


becoming | being

by Potrix



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Child Abuse, Fatherhood, Found Family, Gay Billy Hargrove, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other, Outing, POV Jim "Chief" Hopper, Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Jim "Chief" Hopper, Parenthood, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: “Hey,” Jim calls, when Hargrove doesn’t react at all, knocking again, louder and longer, “time to get up, kid.”Hargrove doesn’t so much as stir. On a whim, Jim tries the handle, a little taken aback to find the car unlocked. He pulls open the door, noting absently that the interior doesn’t smell of cheap beer and teenage hormones like he’d expected, and leans between the seats to shake Hargrove’s shoulder.His skin is ice cold. A sense of unease falls over Jim, and only grows stronger when he manages to turn Hargrove from his side onto his back, exposing his front, without the kid reacting at all.And then Jim gets a proper look at him. “Aw, shit.”[All Jim wants is a hot shower and some damn sleep. Instead, he adopts another stray.]
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 99
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: Neil Hargrove is an Asshole™
> 
> Somehow, the more Billy/Steve I read, the more my need for some Billy&Hopper family bonding grows. So, this is happening, now. And has both of those things. 
> 
> Enjoy!

▪ becoming a dad is one thing | being a dad is many things ▪

It’s nearing 3am, Jim’s coming off a gruelling double shift, the temperature’s somewhere in the low twenties, and all he wants is to go home and get some damn sleep. 

Yawning, Jim gropes through the glove compartment for his pack of smokes, flicking one out far enough to grab it between his lips before throwing the pack onto the passenger seat. He lights it, then rolls down the window despite the freezing weather outside. He’s been trying to smoke less around El, and in the spaces he shares with her, ever since hearing some rumours about a connection between secondhand smoke and lung damage in kids.

His little girl’s got enough to deal with already, without something like asthma on top of it all. 

The drive is quiet this time of night, despite it being the weekend, and Jim’s already looking forward to a long shower in their new bathroom that doesn’t run out of hot water after five minutes, when the headlights of the cruiser glance off an unfortunately very familiar car parked haphazardly at the side of the road. 

“Give me a break,” Jim mutters tiredly, even as he slows down to a crawl in order to get a better look. “Idiot kids.” 

He’s expecting to see Billy Hargrove and his flavour of the month making out in the back, but at first glance, the Camaro seems deserted. With a sigh, Jim comes to a full stop, and grabs his radio. “Ginny, it’s Hopper. Would you look up the number for Harold’s garage for me? Might need him to come out here to tow someone.”

 _“Sure thing, boss,”_ comes Ginny’s reply a moment later, the sound of shuffling papers in the background. _“Let me know if I need to call him up.”_

Jim’s jacket does little against the biting wind that hits him as soon as he pushes open the door. He’s shivering before he’s even fully out of the car, silently cursing the Hargrove kid and whatever stupid thing he’s up to tonight.

Now that he’s closer, it’s easy to spot Hargrove lying in the backseat, although he’s alone. And sound asleep, by the looks of it. Or, more likely, Jim thinks as he raps his knuckles against the window, drunk out of his mind. 

At least the idiot isn’t driving around wasted. Small mercies. 

“Hey,” Jim calls, when Hargrove doesn’t react at all, knocking again, louder and longer, “time to get up, kid.” 

Hargrove doesn’t so much as stir. On a whim, Jim tries the handle, a little taken aback to find the car unlocked. He pulls open the door, noting absently that the interior doesn’t smell of cheap beer and teenage hormones like he’d expected, and leans between the seats to shake Hargrove’s shoulder. 

His skin is ice cold. A sense of unease falls over Jim, and only grows stronger when he manages to turn Hargrove from his side onto his back, exposing his front, without the kid reacting at all. 

And then Jim gets a proper look at him. “Aw, shit.” 

Hargrove is a mess. There’s a dark bruise forming around one eye, already starting to swell it shut, and a set of scratches run down from the edge of it, right to his cracked, much too blue lips. Most worrying of all, though, is the blood matting the hair around his temple, a thin line of it trickling down towards his chin. 

“Shit,” Jim says, again, and sits back on his knees in the driver’s seat. Into the radio he barks, “Hopper again, down a little ways from the motel on Jefferson. Forget the tow truck, I need an ambulance, quick as possible. Young male, unconscious, bleeding head wound, probably hypothermia, too.” 

Which really isn’t a surprise, given that a pair of boxers and a threadbare wife beater are all that Hargrove is wearing. Taking in the kid’s state of undress, Jim adds, “And I want two officers down at the Hargroves’ house, sooner rather than later. Check if there’s something suspicious going on, but be subtle about it. Wouldn’t do to spook anyone.” 

_“On it, boss.”_

Radio put away, Jim climbs back out of the car. It takes him a second, but then he’s got the seat folded down and pulled forward, giving him enough room to climb into the backseat. If Hargrove has a concussion, which is likely given his injuries, he should be awake, just to be safe. 

“C’mon, kid,” Jim says as he slides his hands under Hargrove’s shoulders, heaving him up. The kid is dead weight, but Jim gets him leaned against the side of the car eventually. He grabs Hargrove’s chin, giving his head a shake. “Can you hear me? Hargrove?” 

He has to repeat the whole process a few more times, but then Hargrove’s eyes begin to flutter, although they never open fully. Which can’t be good. With a guilty, “Sorry ‘bout this,” Jim slaps Hargrove’s unharmed cheek. 

Hargrove moans at that, and peels open his good eye. Jim’s moment of relief is short lived, however, because a mere moment later, Hargrove starts to retch, gags, and then he’s throwing up all over himself with a pitiful little whine. 

The sound of an approaching car has Jim look up hopefully, then swear under his breath when he realises he can’t hear sirens. He focuses back on Hargrove, turning his head to the side to keep him from choking should he throw up again. Hargrove hiccups something unintelligible, and tries to remove Jim’s hands from his face, but just ends up weakly batting at him. 

“Don’t,” Hargrove murmurs, slurred, staring unseeingly past Jim. “I—I didn’t—sorry. ‘M sorry.” 

“Hop?!” 

Jim nearly jumps out of his skin at the shocked exclamation, clutching at his chest. “Jesus Christ, Harrington,” he snaps, turning to glare at a wide-eyed Steve peering into the Camaro, “are you trying to give me a damn heart attack?”

“Sorry.” Steve does look sheepish, at least, offering Jim an apologetic shrug. Then, glancing back at Hargrove, he asks, “What the hell happened to him?” 

Jim shakes his head. “Not a clue.” 

It’s then that he notices the bat in Steve’s hand, fingers white-knuckled around the handle, he’s gripping it so tightly. It sends a sad pang through him, the reminder that half of the kids around Hawkins have a damn good reason to be this cautious and scared.

“Steve,” Jim says, trying for reassuring, “go put that away, okay? And bring me one of the blankets out of my trunk, while you’re at it.” 

Steve blinks, first at Jim, then down at the bat. “Right,” he says, scratchy, has to clear his throat, “right, sorry. Blanket. Right. I’m on it.” 

Together, they’ve got a semi-conscious Hargrove bundled up in Jim’s jacket and the blanket by the time the paramedics show up. Jim tells them as much, or rather as little, as he can while they move Hargrove from the Camaro to the ambulance. Steve stands off to the side, worriedly chewing his bottom lip as he watches the whole procedure. 

“You got your walkie with you?” Jim asks in a low voice, stepping close to Steve. They all do, usually, even months after the gate’s been closed, and the lab shut down. Just in case. When Steve confirms that he’s got his in his car, Jim says, “I need you to do me a favour.” 

Steve nods. “Okay?”

“Follow the ambulance to the hospital, stay in the waiting room. I’ll make sure to let my guys know not to kick you out.” Jim runs a hand over his face before meeting Steve’s eyes. “And call me, immediately, if something—if anything strange happens. You got it?” 

“You think,” Steve whispers, with a quick look at the open ambulance doors, “this has something to do with—well. With you know what?”

A half-naked, badly hurt kid who’s involved with several people who know about Eleven and the Upside Down, found barely alive in the middle of the night on the outskirts of town? It’s unusual, that’s for sure. Although Jim fears something much less supernatural, albeit equally monstrous has been going on tonight. 

He needs to be sure, though. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder. “But I’ll find out, that’s for damn sure.” 

“All right.” Steve gives another nod, and pulls his keys out of his pocket. The ambulance is almost ready to leave. “Anything strange, I’ll call you right away.” 

Jim watches the paramedics drive off, Steve’s car close behind, before he starts the cruiser. He takes a deep breath, holds it for two, three, four seconds, before letting it out slowly. 

He’s got some questions for Neil Hargrove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF Hopper incoming. 
> 
> Also, if you think you need it, please check out the end notes for additional, slightly spoilery warnings.

Jim arrives on Cherry Road to a scene of pure and utter chaos. 

From the looks of it, half the street is awake despite the early morning, with a good dozen gawkers clustering on the sidewalk opposite the Hargrove house. Two of Jim’s officers are futilely trying to disperse the crowd, while another is standing by the Hargroves’ open front door with the crying Mrs Hargrove, though the main attraction is undoubtedly the seething man being dragged towards one of the police cars by Callahan and Powell. 

“Fantastic,” Jim groans to himself as he gets out of the cruiser, hand instinctively moving to touch his holster. 

He grits his teeth against the damn cold, even more pronounced now that he’s without his jacket, and stalks towards the wildly struggling Mr Hargrove. “I’d say good morning,” he calls, then takes a pointed look around them, “but I think we all had different plans for today.” 

“Chief,” Callahan greets, long-suffering, while Powell just gives him a nod, then curses when Mr Hargrove’s elbow nearly connects with his stomach. 

“This is outrageous!” Mr Hargrove yells, twisting in Powell’s hold. “I haven’t done anything!” 

From close up, he smells strongly of alcohol, and his eyes are tellingly bloodshot. 

“Assaulting an officer,” Jim says, with a raised brow, counting on his fingers, “assisting arrest, nevermind the reason you’re being taken into custody in the first place.” 

It’s a gamble, baiting the man like this, but it pays off almost instantly. 

“That cocksucking little faggot got what he deserved!” Mr Hargrove screams, absolutely furious, earning himself a series of shocked gasps and mutters from the onlookers behind them. “I won’t have that kind of behaviour in my house! Not under my roof! If he’d learned his lesson the first time—”

Having heard enough, Jim hooks his foot between Mr Hargrove’s legs, then yanks it forward again, watching with a sense of sick satisfaction as the man hits the ground face first, unable to catch himself on his cuffed hands. Jim crouches down next to him, and tangles a hand in his hair to turn his head, eliciting a pained hiss. 

“For your own sake, Mr Hargrove,” he whispers, quiet enough that no one outside their little group has a chance to overhear, “I’d hope that the kid lives. Not that attempted murder’s going to score you a lot of brownie points with your buddies in jail, but it’s got to be better than being known as the guy who beat his son to death, don’t you think?” 

Truth be told, Jim doubts that murder charges will stick, given the circumstances. Billy is seventeen, with violent tendencies and a criminal record of his own, but the threat is at least enough to shut Mr Hargrove up for the moment. 

He pushes Mr Hargrove’s head back down onto the icy ground, then straightens back up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Take him away,” he orders, before turning to the group of neighbours with the friendliest smile he can muster up. “Streets are slippery, better watch your feet on your way home.”

It takes him staring them down, and the two officers more insistently urging them along, but eventually the crowd thins out. 

Mrs Hargrove has been ushered back into the house in the meantime. She’s sitting on the couch in the living room with her face in her hands, still sniffling quietly, the picture of abject misery. 

Grimes is awkwardly hovering nearby, but snaps to attention as soon as he spots Jim. “Chief—”

“Hopper!” 

Jim lets out a breathless _oof_ when Max crashes into him, and throws her arms around his waist. She’s sobbing, but still seems determined to explain, “He—he tried to—he tried to kill—kill Billy!”

A quick glance up at Mrs Hargrove tells him she’s too out of it to question why her daughter has just thrown herself at a man she’s not supposed to know, so Jim puts a hand on Max’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We’ve got him, Max, okay? He won’t be able to hurt any of you anymore, not for a long, long time. I promise.” 

“Bi—Billy—”

“At the hospital by now,” Jim reassures, pulling back enough to be able to meet her eyes. “They’re going to look after him.” 

Max swallows, and takes a few shuddering breaths before asking quietly, “Is he going to be okay?” 

Jim really hopes so, but at this point, everything’s still up in the air. “Why don’t you go sit with your mom, Max, huh?” 

Lower lip trembling dangerously, clearly understanding what that non-answer means, Max nods, and moves to curl up by her mother. She buries her face in Mrs Hargove’s shoulder, and Jim’s glad to see the woman stir at that, and wrap a shaking arm around her daughter. 

“Grimes,” Jim says, stepping to the side, and waving the officer over. “What do we know?” 

“We haven’t been able to talk to Mrs Hargrove yet,” Grimes says, head ducked close to Jim’s, voice low, “but Maxine apparently witnessed most of the assault.”

He winces, and Jim is inclined to agree. No kid should see something like that. 

“Said she woke up to yelling, so she got up to see what was going on. Apparently, Mr Hargrove had struck his son, knocking him to the floor. Mrs Hargrove was trying to calm him, to no avail. According to Maxine, Mr Hargrove was yelling about,” here Grimes pauses, grimacing, before continuing with, “well, you heard him outside. She said he kept kicking his son, ignoring both her and her mother, before eventually grabbing the ashtray from the coffee table, and repeatedly hitting his son over the head with it. At that point, Maxine rushed over, hitting Mr Hargrove in the back, which led to him locking her in the utility closet.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jim mutters. 

Grimes nods gravely. “Callahan and Powell saw him carry something out of the house when they arrived on your orders. Powell checked the trash after Mr Hargrove had gone back into the house, and found the bloody ashtray. At that point, they decided to call for backup, then went to apprehend Mr Hargrove. They found Mrs Hargrove crumpled on the floor in the kitchen next to the telephone, which had been ripped out of the wall, and Maxine in the closet. Billy Hargrove was nowhere to be found, at that point. But I guess you found him.”

“Just in time, too.” Jim sighs heavily, clapping Grimes on the back. “Thank you, officer. Call the guys from forensics to come down here. Have someone take Mr Hargrove to the station, but tell Powell and Callahan to stay here to give their reports.” 

“Yes, Chief,” Grimes says, grabbing his radio as he heads back outside. 

Mrs Hargrove is still fairly unresponsive when Jim squats down in front of the couch, but Max is watching him with teary eyes. “I wanna see Billy.” 

“Kiddo,” Jim says gently, which earns him a small glare. “He won’t be awake for hours. We should find you and your mom a place to stay for tonight.” 

Max is gearing up to argue, frowning angrily, but deflates somewhat when Jim offers, “Tell you what. You take your walkie with you, and I’ll call you the moment I know more. Okay?” 

She clearly doesn’t like that idea, but after a long glance at her mostly catatonic mother, she holds out her hand. “Promise?” 

Jim shakes it. “I promise.”

Max smiles faintly. “Thanks. And we can stay with Mrs Trilly down the road. She’s in book club with mom.” 

By the time the forensics people have shown up, and Max and Mrs Hargrove have been delivered to their neighbour’s house, it’s after dawn. Jim feels bad waking El, but he’s no closer to getting home, and he doesn’t want her to worry. 

Mrs Trilly is more than happy to let him use her phone to call El, who’s disappointed he probably won’t be home all morning, but perks up at the prospect of staying with her friends for the day. So Jim calls up Joyce, who’s as understanding as ever even after being woken up at six in the morning, and promises to go pick up El, and bring her to the Byers’ house. 

Jim makes it to the hospital just after seven, exhausted beyond belief. He dismisses the officers still waiting around, before going to find someone in charge who can tell him about Billy’s condition. He sags in relief when he’s told the kid will pull through. 

After making sure he’ll be informed when Billy wakes up, he joins Steve in the waiting room, flopping down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs with a tired groan. “What a night. Sorry for making you do this, kid.”

“Eh,” Steve says dismissively, shrugging, “couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“That why you were out in the middle of the night?” 

“Driving helps, sometimes,” Steve mumbles around a yawn, “against the nightmares.” 

Jim reaches out to squeeze the back of his neck, shaking him softly, then leaves his hand there. They sit in silence for a while, before Steve eventually asks, “It was his dad, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well. Shit.” 

Shit, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has absolutely no idea how police investigations work? Yup. It's me. 
> 
> **Warnings for this chapter:** Homphobic language. Semi-graphic description of Neil attacking/trying to kill Billy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter doesn't need any additional warnings, but there's definitely homophobic undertones to the conversation right at the beginning.

“What do you mean, they won’t take him?”

Mrs Dahler, the lady from Child Protective Services, doesn’t glance up from the file in her hand, flipping another page. “As you must know, Chief, most homes in the area are at, or at least near, capacity these days. We simply don’t have the space. Or,” at this she finally does look up, a wry smile on her lips, “the funds we’d need to properly do our jobs.”

And yes, Jim does know, of course he does. This is, unfortunately, nowhere near the first time he’s had to get a kid out of a bad situation. How reluctant CPS is to place Hargrove, however? That’s definitely new. Suspicious, Jim sits up a little straighter, and pins Mrs Dahler with a narrow-eyed look. 

Mrs Dahler purses her lips. She taps a finger to a few lines of text in Hargrove’s file, underlined in neon yellow. “William has a history of being physically aggressive towards his peers, as well as showing a distinct lack of respect for authority figures—”

“As do half the kids in the system,” Jim cuts in, quirking a brow at Mrs Dahler. 

He sure as hell did, back in the day. Constantly mouthing off to his teachers. Posturing like only a dumb, hormone-riddled teenager could. Hissing and shoving at everyone who dared to so much as look at him, when he showed up to class with another black eye or fat lip. 

“Chief, let me be frank.” Mrs Dahler closes the file with a distinctly final sounding _whoosh_. “William’s behavioural issues aside, we’re concerned that putting him in a close quarters with a bunch of boys, some younger and more vulnerable, would lead to inappropriate conduct. Given William’s—circumstances.” 

They both know what circumstances she’s so very carefully not talking about. 

Rumours spread fast in a town as small as Hawkins, and Neil Hargrove making a giant scene in the middle of the street has, evidently, sent the local gossip mill into overdrive over the last couple of days. Jim’d hoped, apparently foolishly, that people would chalk Mr Hargrove’s words from that night up to too much alcohol, or general prejudice, but that’s clearly not the case. 

He’d even overheard some of his officers whispering about it, a quiet, “Yeah, I’ve picked the Hargrove kid up behind the quarry once or twice. You know, where all the—” that was shushed as soon as they’d spotted Jim rounding the corner. 

“So, what are you suggesting we do with him, then?” 

The way Mrs Dahler clears her throat, and doesn’t quite meet Jim’s eyes, is extremely telling. “Well, there is a juvenile detention home up in Indianapolis that’s willing to—”

“Let me get this straight,” Jim interrupts, again. He rubs at his forehead, where he can feel another headache starting up. It’s been nothing but paperwork and headaches since finding Billy Hargrove by the side of the road, it feels like. “The kid got beat half to death—by his own father, I might add. And your solution is to put him in juvie?” 

“It’s the only option we have, at this point.” Mrs Dahler sighs, and almost sounds like she means it when she says, “I’m sorry, Chief.” 

Jim takes a deep breath. Then another one. Chews the inside of his cheek, considering. Even though there’s really nothing to think about, when it comes down to it. “I’ll figure something out.” 

Mrs Dahler doesn’t look convinced, but she agrees to give Jim until Hargrove is released from the hospital to find another place for him to stay. After that, Jim ushers her out of his office as quickly as possible. 

The moment the door closes behind her, Jim drops his head into his hands with a long, drawn-out groan. “That idiot kid isn’t my responsibility,” he tells himself, already knowing it’s futile. “God damn it.” 

El is immediately on board when Jim brings the idea up with her that night over dinner. He’s not entirely sure if she’s taken a peek into his thoughts again, despite their long talks about privacy, or if she’s remembering her own less than stellar upbringing, but she smiles at him, small and sad, when Jim finishes his explanation, and decides, “Yes. We help.” 

Jim had meant to turn the spare room in their new house into an office space for himself, but hasn’t found the motivation to do it, so far. It would only mean having to take paperwork home with him, eventually, which isn’t really something he’s eager to do. 

So, instead, he picks a bed up for cheap from Goodwill, and lets El go wild on the rest of the room. She gets Max involved as well, who brings over some things from the Hargrove house, and the two of them spend an afternoon decorating and bickering. 

Sam Owens is less than impressed when Jim calls him up with another favour, but agrees to help out, “Just one more time, Jim, I swear,” after Jim spends a few minutes reminding him of just how colossally the Department of Energy has screwed everyone over during the last few years. 

Which means that when Hargrove is discharged from the hospital after a little over a week, Jim is an unofficially-officially licensed foster carer, and ready to pick the kid up and bring him home. 

He decides to leave El at the house, despite her pouting, in an attempt not to overwhelm Hargrove. Max had wanted to come, too, but Mrs Hargrove had apparently insisted that she couldn’t skip school for the day, if the angry phone call Max’d had with El the evening before is anything to go by. 

Hargrove looks like a mess, and he’s as subdued as Jim’s ever seen him. The stark contrast to the cocky, louder than life kid with an attitude Jim’s seen around town before is almost eerie. But Hargrove comes without argument when Jim explains, as gently as he can, that he’s going to be staying with him and his daughter for a while, shuffling from the wheelchair they’d pushed him out of the hospital in to Jim’s car at a snail’s pace. 

The first ten minutes of the drive are spent in somewhat tense silence, with Jim nervously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and Hargrove’s head lolling against the passenger side window. Jim’s still trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say here, when Hargrove mumbles, so quiet Jim almost doesn’t hear him, “Is he mad?” 

When Jim glances over, Hargrove is already watching him back with dull, glassy eyes, fidgeting with the seatbelt across his chest. The massive amount of meds he’s on must really be doing a number on him. 

“Hargrove,” Jim says, then winces. Begins again with, “Billy. Your father’s in jail.” 

For the longest while, long enough that Jim thinks he might have fallen asleep, Billy doesn’t say anything. Then, somehow even quieter than before, he utters a small, raspy, “Oh.” 

They lapse into silence again. 

Billy is tense and stiff, clearly hurting despite the painkillers, as Jim helps him out of the car, though he seems a little more alert, gaze darting around as they make their way into the house. El is waiting for them in the hallway, obviously excited as she bounces on her toes. Jim has to smile at the sight, and ruffles her hair, which makes her squawk in protest. 

She slips out from under his hand, and faces Billy, head tilted curiously. Billy watches her back impassively. Then El smiles, nods decisively, and asks, “Do you want Eggos?” 

It startles a laugh out of Jim, makes him reach for her again. With El tucked under his arm, he turns to Billy to ask, “Are you hungry?” 

Billy seems to actually consider it for a moment, before he gives a minute shake of his head. “‘M tired?” 

“Of course.” Jim gestures down the hall, leading the way to the second to last door. He pushes it open, and steps aside to let Billy get a look. “Your sister brought over some of your stuff, but let me know if there’s something she missed. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall, the kitchen just off through the living room. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, if you’re hungry later.” 

When Billy doesn’t say anything for an awkwardly long moment, Jim ventures, unsure, “Do you need anything? Right now?” 

Billy licks his lips. He shakes his head again. 

“Well, then.” Jim scratches at his beard. “Go get some sleep, okay?”

Billy moves into his room. He closes the door without another word. The lock clicks shut.

They don’t see him for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have absolutely no idea how CPS or anything involved with that works. I'm not from the US, please don't yell at me. Given the time and circumstances, though, I feel like what I've tried to do isn't entirely inaccurate? Unfortunately for Billy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised, half of my Harringrove fics are literally from an outside POV. I guess I just really want The Dads to take care of these two idiot boys.

Having Billy in the house is like living with a ghost. 

He rarely leaves his room when Jim and El are at home, and if he does show himself, it’s only to quickly dart into the bathroom. Jim gives up trying to coax him out for meals after the first few days. El has taken it upon herself to fix him a plate whenever her and Jim eat together, and then leaving it in the hall outside his room. 

It worries Jim. The reading material he’d found at the hospital is mostly geared towards women, though Jim figures the advice probably applies to all victims of domestic abuse. Which means he’d expected Billy to be skittish, after everything he’s been through, and wary of strangers, especially men, but he also knows that this isolating behaviour isn’t good for the kid. 

Not conducive to a steady, healthy recovery journey, according to one of the pamphlets. 

Jim has no idea how to approach the situation, though, so they don’t see a lot of Billy over the first few days of cohabitation. But not seeing him in person doesn’t mean there’s no evidence of him being around. 

The kid is surprisingly neat for a teenager. There are never any dirty glasses or dishes in the sink when Jim gets home from work, even when Billy has clearly been cooking for himself during the day. He always leaves the kitchen spotless, and Jim is almost a little ashamed to discover that it tends to be cleaner now that Billy’s living with them than it was before. 

He also does his own laundry, and if there’s anything of Jim or El’s hung up to dry when he does it, he folds that along with his own clothes. Jim can’t really remember the last time he bothered to fold his socks. They’re all the same colour, so he usually just throws them in a drawer, quick and easy. 

Despite all that, Jim gets a little nervous as the day of Billy’s first follow-up at the hospital draws closer. He wants to give the kid the space he needs, doesn’t want to force him out of the bubble of safety he’s built for himself, but the check-up is necessary. 

Apparently, he needn’t have worried, though. On the morning of the appointment, Jim wakes up to the smell of bacon, and nearly falls out of bed in his haste to get to the kitchen to make sure El isn’t about to hurt herself. Or burn their house down. But El’s sitting at the kitchen table, trying but mostly failing to look casual, while Billy’s working at the stove, pushing a heaping amount of scrambled eggs around a pan. 

He dares a quick glance over his shoulder at Jim’s bumbling entrance, before quickly averting his eyes again. He’s tense, back rigidly straight, as he murmurs a raspy, “Good morning.” 

“Mornin’,” Jim parrots back as he takes a seat opposite his daughter. He quirks a questioning brow at her, but El only shrugs, obviously as surprised as he is by this unexpected turn of events. Feeling a little off balance, Jim clears his throat before asking, “How are you doing today, Billy?” 

Billy scoops the eggs onto a plate, and brings it over to the table. Then he goes and grabs the bacon, plus their little bread basket that’s been filled with toast, and sets it all down in the middle of the table as well. Only then, hovering awkwardly a couple of steps away, does he answer, “Fine, thank you, sir.” 

Jim can’t help it, he pulls a face at that. “Please, kid, call me Jim.” 

Billy doesn’t say anything at all in response.

“Come, eat,” El pipes up, patting the chair next to her. 

After a moment of chewing his lip, Billy sits down. He mostly picks at his food while Jim and El eat, talking about what’s on the agenda for the day, and gets up as soon as they’re finished to start clearing the table. 

Jim watches him for a moment, before he tells him, “Hey, kid, you don’t have to do that. You already cooked. Or let El help you, at least.” 

Somehow, for some reason, that’s the wrong thing to say. Billy’s hands twitch around the pan he’s scrubbing, and his mouth turns down into a frown, eyebrows pinching together almost angrily. 

“Anyway,” Jim soldiers on, unsure of how an offer to get out of chores could possibly be something to be mad about, “we’ll need to leave in about half an hour if we want to be at the hospital in time.” When Billy ignores that, Jim decides it’s time to retreat. “I’ll go get dressed.” 

Billy’s waiting outside by the car twenty five minutes later. Jim drops El off with Joyce first so she won’t have to spend the whole day alone at the house, then sets out for the hospital. Billy doesn’t talk, but when Jim tells him he can choose the music, he settles on a rock station, and even bops his head along to the beat, although he’s obviously still not in the best mood. 

And it only gets worse during the appointment. Most of Billy’s injuries are healing up slowly but nicely, the doctor informs them, although he’s somewhat worried about the concussion. Billy is instructed to take it easy for another two weeks, and limit activities that could aggravate his condition further. Cutting back on smoking is also advised, and operating a vehicle is completely out of the question for the time being. 

Billy is clearly not happy about that. 

On a whim, Jim decides to swing by the store before taking Billy back home. There isn’t much he can do to speed up Billy’s healing process, but he can buy the kid some junk food to cheer him up. 

Jim’s picking up more Eggos, again, when he hears a commotion from a few aisles over. He knows, instinctively, that Billy’s involved. And, sure enough, when he gets to the cooler with the sodas, there’s Billy, facing off against two kids around his own age Jim doesn’t recognise. 

“—dick in your mouth, Hargrove?” 

Jim only catches the end of the taunt, but it’s enough. He’s about to call out, but Billy beats him to it. With a growl, Billy grabs the shit-talking kid by his shirt, holds him still, and rams his head into the kid’s face.

The kid yowls, staggering back, and clutches at his bleeding nose. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jim hisses as he hurries over. 

Billy is bent over, hands on his knees, and breathing hard. 

“He broke my nose!” the bleeding kid whines at Jim, once he spots him, while his friend nods along vigorously. “Arrest him!” 

Jim rolls his eyes. “You’re fine,” he says, and then, over their protests, “Now get the fuck out of here.” 

The two kids glare at him, then at Billy, but they do leave, clearly not willing to argue with the chief of police. 

“And you,” Jim turns to Billy, who’s managed to straighten himself up again, but is looking suspiciously green, “you’re an idiot. Did we not talk about your head trauma less than an hour ago? Did I imagine that?” 

He still buys a ginger ale, and a bag of frozen peas for Billy. 

Jim has the car idling in front of the house when Billy asks, through clenched teeth, “Does everyone know?” 

Jim hesitates, completely out of his depth, here. “Your father, he, uh. He said some things, when we arrested him. Now, I don’t know what, or who—”

Billy doesn’t wait for the rest of the explanation. He practically throws himself out of the car, and stalks into the house, slamming the door behind himself. 

“Well,” Jim sighs, “that’s definitely not good.” 

He feels terrible leaving Billy by himself, after that, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. At least the people of Hawkins decide to give him a break today, and he can clock out on time for once. El chatters happily at him after he picks her up, on the short drive back from the Byers’ house, and Jim finally finds himself able to relax a little. It’s short lived, however, because the moment he opens the front door for her, El gasps, and takes off running. 

“Billy is hurt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. Seriously, though, I promise it's not as bad as you're probably thinking right now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for some brief, additional warnings for this chapter.

“Shit, kiddo,” Jim curses, and hastily pushes the front door closed, before following El down the hall, “wait up!” 

They live in a decent part of town now, after moving out of the cabin, and one of their nosy but well-meaning neighbours would definitely have called the station if they’d heard or seen anything strange going on. That, coupled with Billy’s state of mind earlier today, points to something Jim, maybe naively, hadn’t even considered so far. Something he definitely wouldn’t want his thirteen-year-old daughter to see, should it be the case. 

El is determined, though, and also faster than Jim, if she wants to be. She doesn’t hesitate upon reaching the bathroom door and finding it locked, simply throws up her hand, and has the door fly open with a crash. 

Jim winces at the sound of splintering wood. 

But then El falters on the threshold, clearly seeing something unexpected, and Jim fears the worst until he’s close enough to take in the scene for himself. 

Billy is bent over the counter, and while there are a few drops of blood in the sink, he is fine. Startled by their sudden entrance, but mostly unharmed, if Jim doesn’t count the brand new hole in his nose. Billy stands frozen, pale and wide-eyed, still holding onto a small, silver ring he’d clearly been in the process of fixing in place. 

There’s a bunch of bloody toilet paper crumpled up on the counter, next to an open pack of sewing needles, and what must be Billy’s Zippo lighter. 

A fresh bead of blood hitting the sink, ridiculously loud in the otherwise silent bathroom, is what spurs Jim back into action. He pulls El to the side so he can squeeze past her, running a hand through her hair when she blinks up at him in confusion. “Go watch some TV, I’ll be out to make dinner in a minute.”

For once, El doesn’t argue. After taking another long look at Billy, reassuring herself that he really is okay, she gives Jim a small nod, and heads off to the living room. Jim waits until he hears the sound of the TV being turned on before he shuts the door as far as it will go. 

He tries to take a few steady, calming breaths, but now that the adrenaline is fading quickly, now that he knows his worry was unfounded, there’s suddenly a lot of room for something more dangerous. “Of all the dumb things,” he says, voice tight, then cuts himself off, and shakes his head. “What the hell were you thinking?”

And Billy—Billy explodes, it’s the only word for it. 

“Me? What were you thinking? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls, eyes blazing as he rounds on Jim. He lets out an ugly, choked laugh, baring his teeth. “You don’t—why am I here? Why the fuck did you bring me here? I’ve got no idea what the hell I’m supposed to—what are the rules? What am I supposed to—”

Agitated, he runs both his hands through his hair, giving it a sharp tug. He paces the few steps between the tub and counter, back and forth, reminding Jim of a caged animal. “What the fuck do you want from me?” 

He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and his nose is still bleeding lazily. His hands are twitching at his sides, now, and he’s tense, holding himself ready, as if he’s waiting for Jim to lash out. 

And just like that, Jim deflates. It’s a little dizzying, how quickly the anger disappears, only to be replaced with a rush of fresh guilt. Not for the first time, Jim realises just how wholly, incredibly unprepared he actually is to take proper care of a scared, traumatised teenager filled to the brim with issues neither of them have the faintest idea how to tackle. 

He hadn’t noticed before, but it’s slowly dawning on him, now, that the way Billy’s been acting since he brought him home must’ve been one big red flag Jim just hadn’t recognised for what it was. That Billy’s been trying to be respectful by cleaning and tidying, and that he’s purposely been staying out of the way as to not draw too much attention to his presence, both things most likely deeply ingrained after years of living under Neil Hargrove’s roof. 

And meanwhile, by trying to let him settle in peace, Jim has inadvertently been making him flounder and struggle, wondering if he was behaving in the ways that were expected of him. Waiting for Jim to tell him he’s doing all right, or, more likely, for Jim to smack him around for stepping out of line. 

Either way, it’s clear that Jim has screwed this whole thing up pretty badly, so far. 

“Jesus, Billy,” he sighs, and has to clear his throat around the lump in it before he can continue with, “I’m so sorry, kid.” 

Billy stops pacing at that, but only to eye Jim warily. “What.” 

And, well. It’s not as if Jim can blame him for the lack of trust. What he can do, however, is to try and do better by the kid from now on.

“Come on,” he says gently, nodding at the closed toilet, “sit down. Let me have a look at your face.” 

Hesitantly, gaze never once leaving Jim, Billy plops down on the toilet. He crosses his arms over his chest, and juts out his chin, all fake bravado. 

Instead of raising to the bait, Jim gets the first aid kit out of the cabinet, then pulls El’s step stool out from under the sink, and sits down across from Billy. He rips open a pack of antiseptic wipes, folding one out, and motions for Billy to scoot a little closer. “All right, let’s see.” 

Slowly, with suspicion written all over his face, Billy leans about half an inch closer. Jim waits him out, and after a couple of seconds, Billy moves again. It takes a while, like this, but eventually, Billy ends up where Jim needs him. 

At the first touch of Jim’s fingers against his jaw, Billy’s whole body goes taut, but he lets Jim tip his head to the side without a word. There’s some swelling around his nose, which Jim thinks is probably normal, given the needle, and then the piercing Billy’s stuck through it. 

“How,” Jim mutters to himself, inspecting the little ring that’s been left hanging open. It turns out to be fairly easy to twist the two ends together, though, and settle it in place. “Oh. Okay.”

That done, Jim uses the wipe to clean up the blood around the ring, and then bit that’s run down to Billy’s lips. He throws the wipe into the sink with the rest of the trash, before rummaging through the kit for the bottle of iodine. 

Billy grimaces at the sight of it, which makes Jim huff out a small, amused chuckle. “Should’ve thought of that before poking a hole in your face.” 

It earns him a glare, then a hiss when Jim carefully dabs some of the iodine over the wound. He leans back a little, inspecting his handiwork, mouth pursed. “Pretty sure that's going to get infected anyway, to be honest with you.” 

He turns Billy’s head forward again, but keeps a loose hold on his chin so Billy has to meet his eyes. “Listen,” he begins, awkward but determined, “I need you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. What I want is for you to get better, first and foremost. Okay?”

That makes Billy glare again. “Why?” 

Jim quirks a brow at him, challenging. “Why not?” 

When Billy doesn’t say anything in response, Jim sits back fully, sighing deeply. “El has her chores. We can talk about you getting some after your next check-up, how does that sound?” 

“Cooking,” Billy murmurs. Quiet, almost shy. “Kinda like doing it.” 

Jim smiles at him, big and relieved. “There you go. I’m terrible in the kitchen.” 

He gets up, then offers a hand to Billy, who surprises him by taking it after only a moment of hesitance. He lets go quickly, as soon as he’s standing, but Jim decides to take it as a good sign nonetheless. 

They tidy the bathroom in silence, though a much more relaxed one this time around. Billy wordlessly cleans up the mess in the sink, while Jim puts away the stool, and then goes about moving everything back into the first aid kit. 

“After I pierced my ear.” Jim can’t recall a time Billy’s been the one to start a conversation between them, unless absolutely necessary, and is quick to give him a nod when Billy glances over at him. “He got so mad. Broke my wrist that night.” 

“Your father is a piece of shit,” Jim says, without thinking. Which is definitely true, but probably not the best thing to point out, given the circumstances. 

Before Jim can apologise, though, Billy breathes out a quiet laugh. “Yeah.” 

Billy vanishes in his room once they're done, and Jim takes one look in the fridge, before he decides to order them all some pizza. Billy reappears when the doorbell rings, and helps El set the table while Jim pays for their food. 

It’s different, having them both at the table. Different, but nice. 

At least until Billy, after swallowing a huge bite of food, tilts his head in El’s direction, and asks, faux casual, “We gonna talk about how she mind-punched the bathroom door open, or…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger, I know. Sorry? 
> 
> This chapter gave me so much grief, it's ridiculous. And I don't even know why. Ugh. Anyway! Guess who makes another appearance in the next chapter? (Finally.)
> 
> **Warning: **Jim briefly thinks that Billy might have hurt (or even attempted to kill) himself, though his worries turn out to be completely unfounded.****

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


End file.
